


Cookies

by yeaka



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy spur-of-the-moment feeds Thomas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Downton Abbey or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This isn't historically accurate or British. This is for Flippyspoon, who asked for Thommy fluff on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/)~

They’re a little dry and over-sweet, but Jimmy enjoys sweet things, and even more so things that he can have all to himself. He keeps the tray of failed biscuits in one hand so he can use the other to eat, and then to open Thomas’ door. He shuts the door behind himself before someone can see where he’s gone and inevitably ask after his score.

Thomas, bent over the desk along the wall, looks over at him, sees the tray, and looks back down again like it’s nothing noteworthy. He’s got his dinner jacket draped over the counter, one hand holding the seams together and the other working the thread. It’s admirable, the way he can fix his own things so easily, fix nearly anything. He’ll have to do it fast, though—it’s after dinnertime, and the light streaming through his old curtains is fading. 

Jimmy wanders closer and peers over Thomas’ shoulder to admire the handiwork. He was going to talk to Thomas today. He talks to Thomas most days, but today he was going to say some things that have been weighing on him: thoughts that have stirred around and grown over the course of their tight friendship. He just doesn’t know how to say them, is the thing, but Thomas is an eloquent sort and very understanding with him, and he’s got to get the notion across sooner or later, preferably before his feelings hit a boiling point and he does something stupid. 

But he doesn’t want to do all that while Thomas is working. It’ll be a hefty distraction, and Thomas will probably just wind up poking himself with the needle, and then Jimmy will have a distraction of his own to latch onto and use to back out when things get complicated. So instead, he settles for inane things like, “Want a cookie?”

“How’d you get them?” Thomas asks without looking away from his work. His stitches are tiny, fine, strong and skilled but unnoticeable. When Thomas first offered Jimmy the benefit of his knowledge and skills, Jimmy didn’t understand the true treasure he was given. He watches Thomas work for a few seconds before answering. 

“Daisy was trying a new recipe. Says she failed, but they taste good enough for me.”

“And Mrs. Patmore let you have the whole tray, did she?” Thomas snorts.

Jimmy grins, even though Thomas isn’t looking, and admits, “Said to clear it out, but she didn’t say how.” Thomas chuckles, a low, beautiful sound. When Jimmy comes to him with mischief, Thomas always seems more proud that he got away with it than anything else. But Thomas has never been unkind to him, not about anything. And that’s the reason Jimmy brushed past everyone else, yet holds the tray down to Thomas and asks, “Do you want one?”

Thomas glances at them for a moment before deciding, “Can’t. I’m busy and I need to keep my hands clean.”

Jimmy draws the tray back to himself, inexplicably disappointed. It wouldn’t get Thomas’ hands that messy. He eats with his glove all the time, after all, and doesn’t seem to bother about getting crumbs or grease on that. But then, Jimmy supposes, Thomas’ glove is a bit different than a dinner jacket. Still, it seems a flimsy excuse not to eat.

And Jimmy doesn’t want to eat them alone. He didn’t really think it out until just now, but he supposes he came up here to specifically share with Thomas. ...And to talk. But he’s not ready to do that now.

Somehow, he winds up picking up a biscuit instead. 

He holds it, without thinking, over Thomas’ shoulder, and Thomas stops to look up at him. His cheeks are suddenly warm, and he has to fight to keep his face still, but it’s just a biscuit, nothing wrong with that. It’s not strange, even though Thomas is looking up at Jimmy with that soft, forlorn look that he only gets when he’s come too close, and he opens his mouth and breathes, “Jimmy—”

“Go on,” Jimmy says, half to cut Thomas off so he doesn’t have to face it, and half because he’s not going to let Thomas _pull away from yet another moment of them getting close_ , even though Jimmy knows it’s his own damn fault for overreacting that first time. He tries to make it normal, dons a false smile and says, “Take a bite. Nothing wrong with it.”

Thomas licks his lips. That just makes things worse. Jimmy stares at the pink swipe of his tongue and the wet, glistening trail it leaves. But when it’s done, Thomas gives in; his face resigns—he _always_ gives in to what Jimmy wants—and he opens his mouth and leans forward. 

His teeth sink into the biscuit. It breaks, crumbles, and something comes over Jimmy—he pushes it forward, just a centimeter. It’s enough for Thomas to make a choking noise, but Jimmy’s distracted. His fingers are pressing into Thomas’ lips. All he can think about is how soft they are. The rest of Thomas’ face is warm; he can feel the heat, like he can in his own face, but he can’t pull away, not now; that would just make things weirder. He lets his fingers linger along Thomas’ mouth while Thomas quickly takes in the rest of the biscuit and turns his face away to chew, looking anywhere but Jimmy. 

Jimmy’s frozen still, caught in one of those frequent instances of Thomas Barrow turning something mundane and common into something unbearably attractive. Watching his adam’s apple bob against his collar makes Jimmy’s throat go dry. Thomas licks his lips afterwards, another fascinating thing for Jimmy to stare at, but it doesn’t quite do the trick. Jimmy was too messy about it. He clears his throat and says, “You’ve got some on your face.” There’s a little piece of yellowish flour clinging to the crease of Thomas’ chin. 

Thomas kindly doesn’t mention that any mess is Jimmy’s fault. Instead, he just sticks his tongue out further, trying to wipe it away, too much of a gentleman to wipe his mouth on his sleeve like Jimmy might. Jimmy watches him miss all the crumbs, and those things Jimmy needs to say keep swimming in his head closer and closer to the surface, and his breath hitches, and he can feel he’s about to do something foolish, but he’s young and bold and he knows he won’t be rejected, not in this, and he can’t stop himself from moving. 

He takes half a step around Thomas, reaches to tilt Thomas’ chin in his direction, and leans down to lick the crumbs away. Thomas goes stock-still. Jimmy curls his fingers beneath Thomas’ jaw, and he presses his tongue into Thomas’ cheek, tasting the salt of the biscuit and Thomas’ skin and the slight scratch of stray stubble. If he was smart, he’d pull away right now and splutter a vague explanation, but by now he’s running all on instinct, and he trails his tongue down to Thomas’ chin, lapping up the crumbs. Even when he knows he’s got it all, he doesn’t want to stop—it’s been too long and this _is_ what he was going to ask for, and it’s not as awkward as he thought it would be, not at all. It’s easy. It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels warm and soft and not that different from kissing a woman, except that it’s _Thomas_ and Jimmy’s never stopped thinking about how it first felt...

He presses his tongue into the corner of Thomas’ lips, then closes his and presses a tight, chaste kiss to Thomas’ slightly parted mouth. He knows Thomas is gaping at him, shocked. It’s frustrating, in a way, because this would probably be easier if Thomas, who has all the experience kissing men, would snap back to life and take over. 

Instead, Thomas still hasn’t moved by the time Jimmy pulls away, straightening back up. His face is on fire. A part of him can’t believe he just did that, but the rest of him is relieved that it’s over with; that was easier than talking. Than explaining how wrong he was, how closed off and foolish. He’s changed and he’s learned things he never knew before, about both the world and himself, and he knows what he wants. He watches while Thomas slowly goes from deathly pale to pink, then looks up at him. Thomas opens his mouth but doesn’t manage to say anything. 

At least he isn’t mad. Jimmy thought he might be, after how Jimmy reacted the first time, after how cruel he was, after stringing Thomas along and waiting so long to change everything. But Thomas only looks cut-open and flushed and vulnerable, and Jimmy feels foolish for thinking Thomas could ever be harsh to him. He has the real Thomas, he knows, not the hostile shell that the others see. Thomas touches his lips like he can’t believe what happened. His fingers look like they’re trembling. 

They drop away, and he coughs. Like he’s gathering himself up. He says, “Can I have another—”

Jimmy dives in, smashes his lips against Thomas; Thomas can have another kiss and another after that and maybe just an endless stream of them, because Jimmy’s the one shaking, and he doesn’t think he can stop now. He presses so hard into Thomas’ mouth that he has to tilt his face so he doesn’t break both their noses. Jimmy wants Thomas to open his mouth. Jimmy wants his tongue inside Thomas, brushing over Thomas’, tracing the walls and roof of Thomas’ mouth and his teeth. But Jimmy doesn’t know if he’s ready for that yet, though he thinks he will be on the next go— _God_ , he waited too long for this; he was such a fool—so he just breathes through his nose and stays against Thomas for as long as he can. 

He only pulls back because he has to get the stupid biscuit tray out of his hands so he can use them both for better things. As soon as Thomas has the air, he finishes, “—Biscuit.”

Another biscuit. Jimmy says, “Oh,” and blushes even more, if that’s possible. 

He takes a step towards the dresser and puts the plate on it, but takes another biscuit off and holds it in his teeth. 

Then it’s back over to Thomas, bending down and offering the other end for Thomas’ mouth to close around. He can see that Thomas wants to talk, but they’ll do it later. 

Right now, they have a tray to share, and by the time Jimmy’s done with Thomas, there’s no chance he’s going to get through it with his hands clean.


End file.
